


I Had a Fear of Forgiveness

by inoubliable



Series: i've overthought everything i can think of [2]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alive Georgie Denbrough, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Jewish Character, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Plot twist: Bill and Stan don't have assholes for parents, Quiet Sex, Religion, Religious Guilt, Sonia Kaspbrak is still awful because even in an alternate universe that woman is not redeemable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: The story of how Bill and Stan fall apart and then fall back together.—The thing is, Bill doesn’t play fair. Stan doesn’t exactly expect him to, but then again, he doesn’t know what to expect from Bill. They’ve spent the past few weeks ignoring each other, and doing a damn good job of it. It would be easy to fall back into the habit.Except that Stan wakes up to a text from him the next morning.I really do want you to come home with me.





	I Had a Fear of Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [godlychan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/godlychan/gifts).



> This is technically a sequel to [I'd Rather Cut Out My Tongue Than Let You Kiss Me With Yours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640031). You can probably get away with not reading that one first, but since it's mine and I like attention, I'm gonna recommend starting there.
> 
> Title from Haim's [Want You Back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPQfcG-eimk).

Stan breaks up with Bill two weeks into the start of their senior year.

Technically, the decision is mutual. But Stan brings it up. Bill can be stubborn about a lot of things, but he isn’t about this. Stan apologizes, gives him a firm, dry kiss on the cheek, and then the two of them don’t talk for a month.

Avoiding someone is hard when you share the same group of friends.

The Losers are all understanding at first, tiptoeing around the fresh-shattered mess Stan has made, but that, too, eventually crumbles. Stan fully expects to be left out of the group, but that doesn’t happen. He is still invited to everything, same as always.

Thing is, Bill is always invited, too.

And it’s messy, messier than Stan expects. Stan is so used to being in control. He’s used to overriding emotion and operating on brainpower. He’s used to his head being much, much smarter than his heart.

He’s not at all used to his heart being so insistent, and it _aches_ , seeing Bill.

And it’s not even that Bill _does_ anything. He doesn’t immediately date someone else, like Stan expects. He doesn’t get drunk at some party and leave with a stranger. If there’s someone else, he’s had the decency to hide it from Stan. He’s a good guy, better than even Stan gave him credit for.

It’s hard to get over good guys.

So maybe Stan’s not over Bill yet. Whatever. He’ll get there.

Eventually.

* * *

Two days before the official start of winter break, Mike makes them all dinner in his apartment. He’s the only one who lives off-campus, and his place is not technically big enough for all of them, but they make it work. Eddie brings dessert and Ben brings board games and Bev brings vodka and Richie brings weed, and they all eat and talk and laugh until the early hours of the morning. It’s the first time in a long time that things have felt normal, but that’s probably because Stan has steadfastly refused to look at Bill all night.

They’re all crowded in the living room, touching both because of the lack of space and because they want to. Eddie is sitting upright on the couch with Richie on the floor between his knees. His hands are buried in the dark mass of Richie’s hair. Richie’s eyes are mostly closed, maybe drooping from drunkenness or finals-week exhaustion, but more likely from the attention. Mike is on the opposite end of the sofa, and his legs are long enough that they almost reach Ben where he’s lying sprawled on the floor, Bev’s head pillowed on his stomach. Bill is at her feet. He probably has her legs pulled across his lap but Stan can’t tell from his corner chair, carefully angled to keep Bill out of sight.

“I’m going to miss you guys so much,” Eddie says out of nowhere. They’re supposed to be watching a movie, but no one shushes him.

“Me, too,” Beverly says. Her voice sounds like a sigh, dream-like, probably because Ben has his hand cupped around her neck, drawing absent-minded patterns there with the very tip of his finger. Stan spends maybe too long staring at that small point of contact, accidentally missing the casual affection of dating.

It’s stupid; Ben and Bev don’t even touch that often. If anything, Stan should be jealous of Richie and Eddie, who act as if spending even a moment without physical contact will kill them. Even now, Richie tilts his head back and Eddie bends to brush a kiss to his forehead, whispering something private against his skin.

Something in Stan’s gut pulls tight and sharp. He accidentally glances in Bill’s direction.

Bill is already looking back.

Stan’s heart jumps high in his throat and stays there. He tears his eyes away, but his pulse thrums on, hummingbird-quick.

A hummingbird’s heart is heavy – 2.5% of their total bodyweight.

Stan’s heart is heavy, too.

“I wish you guys could just come with us,” Richie is saying. He’s spending the holidays with Eddie. More specifically, Eddie’s mother. It will be his first time meeting her. Stan privately doubts he’ll come back alive.

“Not me,” Mike says. “Christmas with Eddie’s mom does not sound like my idea of fun.” He flashes Eddie an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“Spending time with Eddie’s mom is not fun no matter what time of year it is,” Stan mutters. “Full offense.” He probably deserves the firm kick Eddie lands against his ankle.

“Don’t talk about my ma!” Eddie says, high-pitched and defensive. “At least I’m not spending Hanukah with a _rabbi_.”

Stan shakes his head. He didn’t drink much, but he somehow ended up smoking most of the joint that got passed around earlier and it’s making him feel syrupy-slow. “I’m not, either.”

His friends all look at him. Stupidly, Stan feels Bill’s stare the most, burning into the side of his face.

“I’m not going home for the holidays,” he explains.

“What?” Eddie demands. “Why not?”

“Finally rebelling, Stan the Man?” Richie chimes in.

“Where are you going to go?” Bev asks.

Stan shrugs. He hasn’t really thought about it. He only just called his mother to break the news the night before. The phone call lasted an abnormally long time, mostly because she alternated between tears and steely-voiced disappointment for an entire hour. She even put Stan’s father on the line at one point, but his dad only reminded him to say his prayers and light the menorah.

Stan doesn’t even have a menorah in his dorm room, and there’s a strict policy against burning candles, but he didn’t say that. He could still hear his mother’s weepy voice in the background and didn’t have the heart to sit through a lecture.

It’s going to be the first Hanukkah he’s ever spent without his parents.

The thought is both liberating and very, very lonely.

“I’ll probably just stay in the dorm,” he says.

“No way!” Eddie says immediately. “You can’t stay on campus alone for a month, Stan. That sounds like something bad waiting to happen.”

“Yeah,” Richie adds, “didn’t you see _Black Christmas_?”

Stan did, in fact, see _Black Christmas_ , only because Richie forced them all to watch it the year before. Eddie had spent the duration of the movie threatening to break up with Richie, increasingly loudly, until he had finally shrieked and fled the room twenty minutes before the end. Richie and Eddie hadn’t been together long at that point, and the half-terrified regret on Richie’s face when he said, “He’s not really going to break up with me, is he?” had made the whole ordeal worth it.

“I really doubt some lunatic murderer is waiting for campus to clear out to kill people,” Stan says flatly.

“You never know,” Eddie says, his eyes wide and earnest. “You can’t stay here alone, Stan. I’ll spend the whole break worried about you.”

It’s a cheap shot, mostly because Stan knows it’s true. Eddie is a worrier, to say the least.

“You could come home with me,” Mike offers. “We can always use some help on the farm.”

“Or me,” Ben chimes in. “My mom would love to have someone else to cook for.”

“My aunt would be happy to let you stay with us,” Bev adds.

“Thanks,” Stan says, “but no thanks. It’s really okay. I want to stay here.”

And it’s true. He really doesn’t want to go anywhere. He wants very much to sulk in his room for a couple weeks.

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

The conversation moves on. Bill, for his part, has not said a word. Stan has no idea what he’s thinking, because he’s still refusing to look.

The night ends not long after. Eddie has already fallen asleep and Richie is carrying him out of the apartment, bridal-style, cooing the entire way about how Eddie is the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Richie, for his part, looks fucking love-struck. Stan never thought he’d see the day that Eddie would have a more successful love life than him, much less with Richie Tozier.

He’s happy for them. Really.

Bev packs up the board games with one hand, yawning into the other. Ben, who didn’t smoke or drink, collects their coats and keys, closing the door behind himself with one last goodbye. Stan is staying on Mike’s couch because his roommate always makes a big deal when he comes back to the dorm too late. Mike bids him goodnight and disappears into his bedroom.

Stan is just about to lie down on the sofa when he looks up and there’s Bill, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, holding a hand to his chest. “You scared me.”

Bill smiles. It’s as devastating as always. “Sorry.”

Stan sits, tugging the quilt off the back of the couch, mostly to have something to do with his hands. “Are you staying, too?” he asks.

Bill shakes his head. “I’m about to go.”

“Oh.” Stan nods. He expects Bill to leave, but he doesn’t. There’s a long, awkward moment where they just stare at one another. “Well. Goodnight,” Stan says eventually.

“Goodnight,” Bill says, and finally goes to the front door.

He hesitates there with his hand on the knob, then turns around again.

“Why aren’t you going home?” he asks. That isn’t at all the question Stan expects.

Stan shrugs, a little helplessly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not in the holiday spirit.”

Bill smiles again, but it’s sort of wry. “I get that,” he says.

Neither of them say anything else for a few seconds. Stan wonders if he’s imagining the tension.

And then, finally, Bill says, “You could come home with me.”

For a minute, Stan is sure Bill means right now. _Come home with me_ , Bill had said so often in the first few weeks of their relationship. Stan had always said yes, and they had always ended up in Bill’s room, Stan’s legs braced tight around Bill’s hips. Stan is so sure that’s what Bill is asking for that his heart throbs in his throat, his hands shaking suddenly with adrenaline and desire.

But Bill’s eyes are not hot, and his mouth is not devilishly twisted. If anything, he looks nervous.

Bill Denbrough is never nervous about sex.

Stan realizes that’s not what he’s asking for.

“What?” he croaks, throat stupidly dry.

“For the huh-holidays,” Bill says. His face flinches, just a little, over the stammer. Bill used to have a stutter. He’s mostly over it, but sometimes it crops back up when he’s scared, or nervous, or upset. Stan wonders which one he’s feeling right now.

Stan stares at him for awhile. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says finally.

“Probably not,” Bill agrees, but still stands there at the doorway, his stupidly big heart on his sleeve.

“I’ll think about it,” Stan says, just so Bill will go away and stop _looking_ at him like that.

Bill’s smile is like the sun. Stan feels warm for a long time after he finally leaves.

* * *

The thing is, Bill doesn’t play fair. Stan doesn’t exactly expect him to, but then again, he doesn’t know what to expect from Bill. They’ve spent the past few weeks ignoring each other, and doing a damn good job of it. It would be easy to fall back into the habit.

Except then Stan wakes up to a text from him the next morning.

_I really do want you to come home with me._

Stan spends a long time staring at his phone, trying to figure out how to answer that. After awhile, Mike comes out of his bedroom and putters around quietly in the kitchen. Stan considers asking for his advice, but he doesn’t really want to drag him into his Bill drama. Not again.

He texts Bill back, knowing all the while this can’t end well.

_I really don’t think it’s a good idea._

_Mom misses you_ , Bill replies almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for Stan to answer. _And so does Georgie._

_It’s not fair to use Georgie against me._

Bill sends a string of smiley-faced emojis, then says, _All’s fair in love and war._

Stan wonders which category they fall under.

Mike offers him cereal for breakfast and then rushes out the door, apparently late for work. Stan pours himself a bowl and misses his mom’s cooking.

He thinks suddenly of the summer before, when Bill brought him home for the first time. Georgie and Mrs. Denbrough had both liked him immediately, and he had liked them just as much. Bill’s mother made them breakfast every single morning, and had smacked the back of Bill’s head for not telling her Stan was Jewish. She had specifically gone to the grocery store for turkey bacon as soon as she realized Stan couldn’t eat the regular kind.

The memory makes him smile.

Stan is senseless and selfish, and God help him, he misses Bill’s family.

He really shouldn’t even consider this. The whole reason he wants to be alone is to get Bill out of his head. That would be pretty hard to do if he spent a few weeks in Bill’s childhood home, sleeping in his childhood bed, curled up into pillows that still smell like Bill even after all this time.

If he was smart, he would not go anywhere with Bill Denbrough.

The problem is, he’s not very smart when it comes to Bill.

He sighs, cursing his stubborn, stupid self.

_Okay. I’ll go._

* * *

It’s a three hour car ride from campus to Bill’s hometown.

The first hour is mostly silent and kind of awkward. Stan pretends to sleep for most of it, curled up on the passenger seat with his face tilted towards the window. The only reason he finally sits up is because Bill is a compulsive channel-surfer, and Stan can only stand to hear thirty-second snippets of a thousand different songs for so long. He digs under his seat where he knows Bill keeps his CDs and flips through them, selecting one they both like. He pops it into the player and pretends not to notice Bill looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Bill doesn’t skip past a single song, but on the last one, he turns down the volume.

“Hey,” he says, and something about his voice puts Stan’s teeth on edge. “Can I ask you something?”

Stan’s stomach bottoms out. He stares straight ahead and gives a noncommittal hum.

Bill hesitates, like maybe he’s thinking better of this conversation, then says, “Why did we—”

“Don’t,” Stan interrupts, because he’s a coward and he’s not at all ready to talk about this. He feels itchy and desperate, like he might crawl out of his own skin if Bill keeps going. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Bill looks like he might argue, then exhales hard through his nose, staring steadily forward. “Okay,” he says, and then there’s a silence that not even the music can cut through.

Stan levers his seat back again after awhile, pretending to sleep again, but he mostly stares out the window and wishes he had never agreed to this stupid trip.

* * *

Things are better once they get to Bill’s house, mostly because Stan isn’t expected to talk to Bill for awhile. Mrs. Denbrough hugs them the second they’re through the door, tightly and in succession, and Georgie hovers behind her, waiting his turn, tiny and teenaged and flush with energy. He’s taller than he was over the summer. Stan wonders how tall he’s going to end up. He wonders if he’ll be in Bill’s life long enough to find out.

Bill carries his bag upstairs before Stan can stop him. He would prefer to sleep on the couch, but he doesn’t know how to say that in front of Bill’s mom. He’s not sure she knows they’ve broken up. He’s not even really sure she knows they were ever together. It’s not like they made an announcement about it. Sure, Bill brought him home, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean anything this time.

Mrs. Denbrough brings him into the kitchen and sits him down at the table, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. She apparently remembers that he takes it black. His chest aches.

Unsurprisingly, this is turning out to be a remarkably bad idea.

She asks him the kind of questions he expects from a parent – about his classes, about his grades, about his plans after college. Then she gets a strange look on her face, somewhere between curiosity and compassion, and asks “Are you okay?”

And her eyes flick up to the ceiling, just briefly, just long enough that Stan knows she’s talking about Bill. Talking about him and Bill, _together_ , and God, if he wasn’t ready to talk about this with Bill, he’s damn sure not ready to talk about it with _Bill’s mother_.

So he plasters on a smile and says, “I’m good. I’m really good.”

She does not at all look like she believes him, but Georgie comes crashing in then, talking in an excited stream about a new video game he just _has_ to show Stan, and Stan gratefully takes the distraction. He is not too proud to admit that he runs from the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

Georgie takes him up to his room and the two of them sit in front of the television while Georgie patiently explains the game. They play a few rounds, and Georgie beats him horribly each time. “You’re such a cheater!” Stan accuses and grins at the offended squawk Georgie gives when Stan grabs him, messing up his hair.

“You’re just bad at this!” Georgie goads once he has escaped Stan’s grasp, and Stan has no choice but to chase him, capturing him at the top of the stairs and holding him captive for several moments of tickle-torture. Georgie’s laugh is loud and unabashed, the kind of sound that makes people smile just for hearing it.

When Stan finally lets him go and turns around, Bill is watching them from the door of his room and is not smiling at all. He looks a little contemplative and a little sad. He turns away when Stan looks at him and closes the door behind himself.

Stan doesn’t think he’s going to have a heart left if it keeps getting crushed like this.

* * *

Stan and Bill spend a few days getting settled into the Denbrough house, mostly spending their time apart. Much to Stan’s surprise, Bill sleeps on the couch. He wants to tell Bill that he should sleep in his own bed, but he’s a fucking loser and not willing to give up the small comfort of falling asleep on pillows that smell like Bill.

They really only see one another at breakfast, an affair that Mrs. Denbrough insists they all attend. Stan doesn’t mind because it’s always an event, between the truly ridiculous amount of food she prepares and the Denbrough banter. Bill and Georgie go back and forth in the way that only those who have grown up together can, uninhibited and seamless, and their mother alternates between admonishing them and joining in. It’s clear where the boys get their wit, and Stan finds himself laughing more often than not, trying to hide it behind his hand or his coffee mug. He doesn’t like to encourage her because he’s sure it will turn Bill or Georgie against him, but whenever he finally gives into his laughter, Georgie just grins and Bill just winks and the conversation devolves into pleasant silence, like amusing Stan was the goal the entire time.

Bill and Georgie and Mrs. Denbrough seem to be making a painstaking effort to include him in their tiny, beautiful family. Stan doesn’t at all know how to handle this.

It’s a morning like this when Georgie announces, “I want to go ice skating.”

“No way,” Bill says, in that soft, smiling voice he gets when he’s teasing Georgie. “They don’t let midgets ice skate. You’d get run over by all the grown people.”

“I’m almost as tall as you!” Georgie protests, which is sort of true. Stan is only a few inches taller than Georgie, and Bill is only a couple of inches taller than Stan.

Bill reaches across the table and pats Georgie’s head. “Whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

“Mom!” Georgie whines, batting away Bill’s hand.

Mrs. Denbrough looks very much like she’s trying not to laugh. “Maybe Stan will take you,” she suggests, looking sort of sly. “Do you know how to ice skate, Stan?”

Stan nods, only a little reluctantly. “I haven’t done it in a long time, though.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” she tells him, and stands to take her plate to the sink, patting his shoulder on her way past. Stan gets the feeling she doesn’t take no for an answer very often.

He looks at Georgie, who looks back with wide, hopeful eyes. There’s no denying that face. “Dress warmly,” Stan says.

Georgie throws his arms above his head and cheers, then scrambles up the stairs to get dressed. Stan follows him, much more slowly. Bill doesn’t join them upstairs immediately, but by the time Stan has finished brushing his teeth, Bill is in the bedroom, apparently waiting for him. He has changed clothes, and his eyes are alarmingly blue against the backdrop of his steel gray shirt.

“You don’t have to go,” Bill tells him, and he thinks for a horrifying second that he’s being uninvited, that he’s overstepped boundaries he wasn’t even aware existed, but then Bill says, “If you don’t want to, I mean. I can take him.”

Stan smiles, just a little. “It’s okay. I want to.” He pauses, and then scrounges up an ounce of courage. “But you’re welcome to come with us.”

Bill opens his mouth, then closes it, then says, “Okay.” He looks very much like he did in the car when he tried to start a conversation Stan was not at all prepared for. Stan isn’t any more prepared now, so he grabs a scarf out of his bag, loops it around his throat, and flees the room before Bill can say anything else.

The skating rink is in the next town over. The car ride is not awkward only because Georgie is in the backseat, chattering excitedly away, apparently unaware of the tension radiating from the front. He talks while they drive, and while they park, and while they rent skates. Bill and Stan probably couldn’t get a word in even if they tried.

Neither of them try.

Stan laces his skates and then helps Georgie with his. Georgie, for all his excitement, is apparently wary about having blades strapped to his feet. He only stands when Stan offers to help him, holding out an arm for Georgie to hold. Bill hovers on Georgie’s other side, and the three of them make it onto the rink, slow and stumbling.

Mrs. Denbrough was right. It’s like riding a bike.

Georgie takes awhile to get used to the skates and Stan helps him, a hand on his elbow. Bill continues to bracket his other side, and the two of them lead him around the rink until he’s gliding comfortably by himself. Then he shakes them off and races ahead, shouting gleeful nonsense. Bill yells for him to be careful but doesn’t follow him, keeping leisurely pace with Stan. They don’t skate close together, but they don’t really drift apart. Stan thinks it’s a stupidly good metaphor for their relationship.

“You’re pretty good,” Bill says, watching Stan skate.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Stan says back. They grin at each other, and for once, neither of them look away. The moment is easy, comfortable. Neither of them shatter it by bringing up whatever weird, broken thing is between them. They just smile and skate and, after awhile, Stan races ahead, fast, shouting, “Catch me if you can!”

Bill does end up catching him, but it’s alright.

Stan doesn’t really mind being caught.

* * *

Things are better, after that.

Not back to normal, exactly, but that’s to be expected. Bill and Stan’s normal is dating, and they’re certainly not doing that. They’re just… friends.

It’s weird. It’s nice.

It’s not at all what Stan wants, but that’s alright.

They see each other much more often: not only for breakfast but for lunch and dinner, and for a couple of hours in between. Instead of alternating time with Georgie, they all pile up in his room together, two of them playing a video game while the third watches. Georgie is the reigning champion of whatever game they play, but Bill is surprisingly good at everything he does, and Stan spends most of his time losing to them.

He’s actually doing well this round when Georgie says, “I want to see a movie.”

Bill gives a distracted hum, focused on the screen.

“You guys should take me,” Georgie says.

Bill doesn’t say anything, probably because Stan has managed to stay in the lead for more than five seconds and he’s taking it personally.

“What movie?” Stan asks.

Georgie launches into a long-winded explanation of the film, and Stan is listening just closely enough to realize it’s a horror film and Georgie needs adult supervision to see it. Stan doesn’t say anything, sure that Bill will shoot the idea down and be the bad guy so he doesn’t have to.

But then Bill says, “When does it start?” and Stan stares at him, betrayed. Bill steadfastly does not look at Stan and he easily wins the match while Stan is distracted, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

The movie starts at six that evening. Nobody questions the obviously underage Georgie, and he leads them smugly into the dark theatre, selecting three seats near the back. Stan tries to covertly situate Georgie in the middle, but Georgie staunchly refuses. “I pee a lot,” he whispers. “Gotta sit on the end.”

So Bill ends up in the middle. Stan spends the first half of the movie trying not to touch him at all. It’s sort of hard, because they’re both tall and the seats are sort of cramped, but Stan manages it until Bill takes up more than his fair share of the armrest and their elbows touch, then their elbows, then their wrists. Before Stan knows it, their knuckles are brushing. If Stan shifted his hand just so, he could hold Bill’s.

He doesn’t, but he thinks about it for much longer than he should.

It isn’t until later that night, lying in bed, that Stan realizes Georgie didn’t get up to use the restroom even once.

* * *

Stan texts Eddie the next day, because that’s what he always does when things don’t make sense.

_I think Georgie is trying to get me and Bill back together._

_Bill’s brother? Why are you talking to him?_

Huh. Stan was sort of under the assumption that Bill would tell Richie they were spending the holidays together. Anything Richie knows, Eddie knows. Which means that Richie _doesn’t_ know, and Bill didn’t mention it.

He almost wants to be offended, except it’s not like he told Eddie, either.

_I came home with Bill for the holidays._

There’s a very long delay.

_Are you two dating again?_

_No. We’re just friends._

Another delay, longer this time.

_Why?_

Stan doesn't know what to say to that. Why? Why what? Why did Stan come home with Bill? Why are they not dating again? Why are they trying to be friends? Stan doesn’t have an answer to any of those questions, but it doesn’t matter, because Eddie texts him again before he can say anything.

_You guys are idiots. Richie agrees with me._

_Richie would agree with you on anything._

_Yeah, but we’re both right about this._

_You’re not helping._

_What did you expect me to say?_

_Remember when you tried to talk me out of dating Bill? I’d like some of that, please._

_You had your chance. Now I like Bill._

_You’re supposed to be my best friend._

_Oh, you know I don’t pick favorites._

Which is _bullshit_ , because Eddie’s favorite is Richie, hands-down. Stan, very briefly, misses the days when Eddie hated Richie and Bill and every other charming, disgustingly handsome frat boy. At least back then things made _sense_.

Eddie texts him again.

_You want my advice?_

_Yes, please._

_Get your head out of your ass and admit you’re still in love with Bill._

Stan spends a long time staring at the message, and then shuts off his phone, very deliberately ignoring it.

He’s not in love with Bill.

He’s _not_.

* * *

That Friday night, Mrs. Denbrough goes out. She doesn’t say where she’s going, but both of her sons seem to understand she won’t be back until the morning. Stan wonders if she’s dating someone. He hopes she is. She deserves someone. According to Bill, the divorce was hard on her, almost as hard as being married to Zack Denbrough.

She leaves Georgie with strict instructions to listen to Bill and Bill with strict instructions to take care of Georgie. She tells Stan to keep them both out of trouble. She gives them all three a kiss on the cheek. Bill and Georgie tilt their faces toward her without much thought, but Stan spends a long time afterward contemplating the soft, maternal press of her lips.

It’s so dangerous to think of Mrs. Denbrough as family, but he can’t help himself.

As usual, they spend the night playing videogames, two playing at a time while the third waits patiently for someone to lose. Or, sometimes, not so patiently – once, Georgie tickles Bill’s bare feet until he’s squirming too hard to focus on the game. Another time, Stan leans in close and whispers in Bill’s ear. He doesn’t even say anything particularly interesting, but Bill drops the controller anyway, his breathing gone shaky.

“I’m gonna make dinner,” Bill says, standing suddenly. “Wanna help me, Georgie?”

Georgie instantly forgets the game, attention span teenager-short. He runs down the stairs, taking them two at a time like food has become the most urgent thing in the world. Stan follows him, moving almost as quickly, because he does not want to get caught alone with Bill and his dark, hot eyes.

Together, the three of them make dinner. Georgie boils water and fetches the ingredients Bill calls for. Stan chops vegetables and measures spices. Bill orchestrates the whole affair, praising them both for their help the entire time. He reaches around Stan once to steal a sliver of pepper, and Stan accidentally leans back against him. Bill turns his head, and his mouth just barely brushes the shell of Stan’s ear. Stan shivers, full-body, and Bill retreats like nothing happened at all.

The food turns out great. They sit together at the kitchen table and eat like a proper family. Bill and Stan take turns telling jokes, trying to get Georgie to snort milk through his nose. Georgie, in turn, grins widely at them, looking as bright and alive as he did at the ice rink, as he did during the goriest parts of the horror film.

At some point, Bill’s foot hooks possessively around Stan’s ankle, hidden beneath the table.

Stan doesn’t pull away.

* * *

They stay up after Georgie goes to bed. Bill fishes out a bottle of wine from the back of a high-up kitchen cabinet. Stan knows it’s not a good idea to be wined and dined by Bill Denbrough, but he still accepts the glass Bill hands him.

“Red wine?” Stan teases, swishing the dark liquid around the bottom of the glass. “Who are you and what have you done with Bill Denbrough?”

Bill levels him with a flat look. “I do have some class, you know.”

“The first night I met you, you had just broken a keg stand record,” Stan says.

For one tense second, he regrets mentioning the night they met, mostly because Bill’s expression does something funny, like he can’t decide whether to be amused or interested or upset. But then he smiles and says, “To this day, I still can’t drink Bud Light.”

“What a shame,” Stan says drily. “I know how much you enjoyed your piss water.”

Bill, in the middle of taking a sip of wine, almost spits it back out, laughing.

Stan feels stupidly pleased, staring at Bill’s smile.

Slowly, the two of them finish the bottle, talking at length about everything and nothing. Mostly nothing. There’s still that tension between them, that unfinished conversation, but Bill doesn’t mention it and neither does Stan. He’s tipsy and happy and he doesn’t want to ruin it. He just wants to sit here, with Bill, pretending like nothing ever went wrong between them.

“Bill,” Stan says impulsively. He sways forward a little, into Bill’s space. Too close, probably, because Bill’s breathing hitches and his eyes go kind of wide.

“Yes?” Bill’s voice is very quiet. Stan realizes then that the house is silent, that the only thing he can hear is the tick of some distant clock and the discordant sound of their breathing. It’s horrifyingly intimate. The air feels electrified. The hair on Stan’s arms stands on end.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight,” he says.

Bill blinks, like that’s not at all what he expected. “I’m not going to kick you out of my room."

Stan stares at him. “You don’t have to kick me out.”

Bill stares back, then seems to understand all at once. His eyes go heavy-lidded and dark. “Oh,” he says, and slides a hand onto Stan’s thigh.

Stan takes that hand in his own and stands. He leads Bill up the stairs, tiptoeing past Georgie’s room and into Bill’s. They climb into bed together, still mostly dressed except for the flannel that Bill shrugs off.

It’s painfully intimate, lying there, side by side, their faces close together on the pillow. Stan kisses Bill because he wants to, but also because he doesn’t want to keep trying to decipher the way Bill is looking at him. He fits his hand around the back of Bill’s neck, holding him close but not directing him, content to have Bill kiss him just like that, lazy and wet and slow. Bill always kisses like they have all the time in the world, even now, after everything.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed in months. Bill’s mouth tastes like red sauce and like wine and like coming home.

They stay like that for a long time, patient, unhurried. Bill ends up sort of on top, but there’s no real intent. Stan kind of wants to fuck, but he also kind of wants to sleep. He accidentally yawns when their mouths part, and Bill laughs quietly.

“Raincheck,” he says, and climbs off the bed. Stan is almost afraid he’s actually going to sleep on the couch again, but he strips out of his clothes instead. Bill is not at all modest about his body, and for good reason. Stan’s mouth gets dry, watching his muscles ripple powerfully as he undresses. He crosses the room and stands naked in front of the closet, rifling slowly through it. Stan is not at all ashamed to be caught staring at his bare ass when he turns back around. “Perv,” Bill accuses without heat, grinning at him. Stan hasn’t seen Bill smile like that in months.

“Says you,” Stan says, because Bill stares at him just as unabashedly when he stands to undress. Bill doesn’t bother to look ashamed, leering instead. Stan rolls his eyes and pulls Bill back into bed with him. Lying there in their sleep clothes somehow feels even more personal than any of the kissing. Their bodies curl together in the dark, Stan’s head on Bill’s chest. They won’t last all night in this position, but it will put Stan to sleep fast. He knows this from experience.

He’s almost there when Bill whispers his name.

Stan hums, not awake enough to notice the sudden edge in Bill’s voice.

“Can we talk about it now?” Bill asks, very quietly.

Stan is too tired to work up the proper panic. “T’morrow,” he slurs, a promise.

* * *

They don’t talk about it tomorrow.

Or the next day, or the next.

It’s kind of like they’ve taken three steps back. The morning after they sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase, Stan wakes up alone in bed. Bill barely looks at him over breakfast, and Stan is too much of a coward to be the one to bring it up. So they manage to ignore each other for three days.

If Georgie or Mrs. Denbrough notice something is wrong, neither of them mention it. Georgie gives one feeble attempt to make plans with them both, claiming he wants to go to the park, but Bill claims it’s too cold and shuts himself in his room. Stan ends up going with Georgie, mostly to get out of the house, but his mood is so sour that Georgie doesn’t even really try to talk to him.

He tries to tell himself it’s for the best. Inviting Bill to sleep with him was a mistake, one that anyone would make under the influence of red wine and Bill’s bedroom eyes. Stan is not mad at himself, because he knows he’s weak – especially when it comes to Bill.

It’s even harder sleeping in Bill’s bed without him. He lies awake at night and tries not to breathe too deeply, tries to ignore the way he’s surrounded by Bill’s bed and the stupid fucking _smell_ of him. It gets so bad that Stan gets out of bed, irritated and half-crazed, sure that he’d rather sleep in the snow than wallow in Bill’s sheets anymore.

The house is still and silent when he creeps down the stairs. From the hallway, he can see into the living room. He doesn’t mean to look, but he does so anyway.

Bill is lying there on the couch, on his back, staring at the ceiling. There is a streetlight outside the window and it illuminates his face. He is very much awake. He lifts his head when he hears the whisper of Stan’s socks against the carpet.

They stare at each other for a long time.

“Hey,” Bill says finally, the first word he’s said solely to Stan in days.

“Hi,” Stan whispers back. He hesitates at the doorway.

Bill shifts, turning onto his side, and there’s just enough room for another person to squeeze in beside him. He pats the empty space. “C’mere,” he says, and Stan is helpless to deny him.

It’s different this time, being so close to Bill, sharing the same breath. There’s no wine to blame, and Stan can’t even fool himself into thinking this is all a dream, because Bill feels so _real_ , solid and warm and familiar. He fits against Bill as perfectly as ever, and that’s both comfortable and heart-breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Stan murmurs, his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to look at Bill’s face.

Bill doesn’t ask why he’s apologizing, even though it could be for any number of reasons. Bill just holds him for awhile, his breathing loud in the silence but soothing, a deep-slow inhale exhale that Stan automatically imitates.

After a long time, Stan says, “I think we need to talk.”

The breath that shatters out of Bill’s chest sounds like maybe he’s been holding it for months.

“Yeah,” Bill says back. “I think so, too.”

Stan opens his eyes but stares very stubbornly at Bill’s chest. He sleeps shirtless, and so Stan counts the beauty marks spattered there, constellated across his shoulders.

“I wasn’t ready,” Stan admits to a particularly dense collection of freckles.

Bill doesn’t say anything. Stan is kind of grateful for that.

“The first night I met you, we had sex.” Stan’s face heats up, which is so stupid, after everything. “I was drunk, and you were hot. It didn’t mean anything.”

Bill inhales like maybe he’s going to speak, but if Stan doesn’t say this now, he never will.

“Just let me talk,” he begs, which is hysterical considering how fervently he’s been trying _not_ to talk about this.

Bill nods, slowly.

Stan traces a random pattern on Bill’s chest. “I thought you were going to be different than you are,” he admits. His voice is very quiet. “I mean, you’re easily the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen. You could have anyone. Everyone likes you. You’re like the perfect frat-boy stereotype, and I know that’s not fair but for a long time I had Eddie in my ear telling me that frat boys are the devil and you’re going to hurt me and…” He huffs. It’s not coming out right. “I’m not blaming this on Eddie. Eddie loves you. Eddie’s not the problem.”

“Am I the problem?” Bill asks, voice caught somewhere between amused and terrified.

Stan shakes his head. “Not at all. You’re just not what I expected. You’re a good guy. You ask me about my day, and you take me out on dates, and you don’t fuck around with anyone else, as far as I know.” Stan pauses, then, finally looking at Bill’s face. “You didn’t, right?”

Bill looks a little indignant and very sad. “Of course not.”

Stan believes him. “Me either,” he murmurs. “So we were dating.”

They’ve never boiled their relationship down to such simple terms before. Being with Bill was something Stan had fallen into naturally, without much thought. He’s never said any of this out loud before.

Bill runs his hand through Stan’s hair, careful not to tug it, as cautious and thoughtful as ever. “Had you ever dated someone before?” he asks quietly.

Stan could lie, but there’s really no point. “No.”

Something flashes across Bill’s face, something possessive and pleased. Stan looks away again, because that expression makes him want things, and if he doesn’t finish this conversation, he probably never will.

“My parents have always been strict about dating,” Stan says quietly, feeling stupid and ashamed. “I didn’t tell them about you.”

“I know,” Bill says.

And yeah, Bill knows, but he doesn’t _know_. Stan is almost positive by now that Mrs. Denbrough knows about them, and she has done nothing but treat him like family. Stan doesn’t think his parents would be so kind. They don’t even know he’s gay.

They’re both quiet for awhile.

“Is that why you broke up with me?” Bill asks eventually. “Because of your parents?”

It sounds so stupid, phrased that way.

“I didn’t break up with you,” Stan says defensively. “We both wanted to end it.”

“I didn’t.” Bill doesn’t sound upset. He almost sounds amused.

“You agreed to it!”

“What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay with me? I didn’t want to make things weird.”

 _Things were weird anyway_ , Stan almost says, but catches himself because that sounds too accusatory. It’s not Bill’s fault that things got weird. It was Stan’s, kind of like everything else.

“I wasn’t ready to tell my parents,” Stan says. “And that felt like the next step.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Bill says. That’s easy for him to say, with a mother who dotes on him and a brother who worships the ground he walks on.

“I want to,” Stan whispers, even though the idea kind of makes him nauseous. “I’m going to tell them.”

“You’re going to tell them you’re gay?”

“I’m going to tell them about you.”

Bill goes very, very still, but his heart thuds hard. Stan can hear it, his ear pressed up against Bill’s chest.

“What about me?” he asks cautiously.

“That we’re together,” Stan says, much more calmly than he feels, his fingers lacing through Bill’s. “That you’re my boyfriend.”

He expects Bill to turn him down. He expects Bill to pull away, or give him hell, or… or _something_.

He does not at all expect for Bill to kiss him.

He kisses back without thinking twice. They’re already crushed in close, but Stan still tries to get closer, opening his legs so that Bill’s knee is between them, Bill’s hands sliding underneath his shirt and up the column of his spine. There is none of the innocence from the night they fell asleep together in Bill’s bed. It’s all raw, sparking heat and sharp desperation.

They part only once, when Bill climbs off the couch, whispering for Stan to wait. He disappears up the stairs and then just as quickly returns with a condom and an almost-full bottle of lube. Stan is too busy yanking him back into a series of short, hot kisses to wonder if Bill had been wishing for this as fervently as he has.

And that’s how Stan ends up getting fucked slow on the living room couch of the Denbrough home, his hands fisted in the cushions and his body jerking with each of Bill’s powerful thrusts. Bill has his hand cupped over Stan’s mouth to silence him but he’s still too loud, his breathing ragged and wet, his moans muffled but desperate. Bill is sweating and so is he, their skin sliding smoothly together, a seamless grind. It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s better than anything Stan could have ever dreamed of, and he’s such an idiot for ever trying to let this go.

“You’re perfect,” Bill says in his ear. Bill likes to talk in bed, and it always surprises Stan, almost as much as it pleases him. “You feel so good.”

 _You make me good_ , Stan thinks, a little incoherently, and his free hand curls around Bill’s bicep, nails digging in deep. He has a sudden memory of the year before, after that very first time, when Bill walked around campus in wifebeaters and short sleeves and showed off the marks Stan left like a trophy. He wonders if Bill will do it again, if he won’t bother to hide the half-moon marks Stan’s nails slice into him. Stan shudders, hard, and hitches his leg higher on Bill’s hip.

“Make me come,” he says, over and over, a garbled gasp against the meat of Bill’s palm. “I’m gonna come.”

And he does, trembling, his entire body taut, legs wrapped so firmly around Bill’s hips that he has no choice but to grind instead of thrust. It rubs him just right against Stan’s prostate, and it’s almost too much, too much, too _much_ , but then Bill comes, too, and it’s mostly fucking perfect.

Bill doesn’t pull out immediately, his body draped over Stan’s, suffocating and glorious. He puts his sweaty forehead against Stan’s, kissing him once, twice, slow, like they have all the time in the world. Maybe they do. Maybe this is how Stan gets to spend forever.

The only light in the room is from the streetlamp outside and Bill looks – he looks like he was molded specifically to make Stan breathless. _I love you_ , Stan thinks.

Neither of them have ever said it out loud. It’s not the first time Stan has wanted to.

They drag their clothes back on slowly, pausing several times to kiss, like they can’t manage to separate for any length of time. Stan has no idea how he managed to last so long without this, but he never wants to do it again.

“Will you come with me?” Stan asks into the hot pant of Bill’s breath. “To tell my parents?”

“I’ll go wherever you want me to,” Bill promises.

The couch is not nearly big enough for the both of them, but they manage to fall asleep together anyway.

* * *

Christmas is a surprisingly big deal in the Denbrough household. There’s singing and baking and a lot of laughter, and the entire house feels warm both from the blazing fireplace and the force of their happiness. Stan doesn’t celebrate the holiday but he falls into their merriment, humming along with a few of the carols that Mrs. Denbrough plays on the piano.

There aren’t very many presents underneath the heavily-ornamented tree, but the four of them still crowd around it and unwrap them, taking their time as if there are a thousand to open. Even Stan has a present, which almost makes him tear up. It’s a framed picture of Georgie and Bill, probably from the year before, both of them smiling. Bill’s arm is around Georgie’s shoulders and they look strangely identical. The card says _So you never forget us! _in Georgie’s chicken-scratch handwriting. Stan can’t help but wonder if this was the final piece in Georgie’s ‘getting Stan and Bill back together’ chess game. He also can’t help but wonder if maybe the real mastermind was Mrs. Denbrough, because she winks at him when he looks at her.__

He spends most of the morning wrapped up in Bill in some small way, under his arm or against his side or with their hands laced together. Georgie pretends to be disgusted, but after awhile he grins openly, waggling his eyebrows lewdly at their joined hands. At one point, he falls dramatically across their laps and loudly proclaims, “It’s the best Christmas ever!”

Stan can’t help but agree.

They leave the day after. Mrs. Denbrough spends a long time hugging them, kissing their cheeks, telling them to be careful. Georgie pouts for most of the morning, but he finally comes around when they finally start to leave, giving them both quick embraces and insisting Bill bring Stan around more often.

“I will,” Bill assures him. It sounds like a promise.

Bill’s hometown is about a two hour drive from Stan’s. This drive is much less awkward than the first – they sing along to the radio together and Stan feeds Bill snacks because he refuses to take his hands off the wheel, mostly because he likes to lick the salt off Stan’s fingers to watch him squirm in the passenger seat.

About twenty minutes from Stan’s house, Bill reaches over and squeezes Stan’s thigh firmly. He leaves his hand there for the rest of the ride. It’s surprisingly comforting, but Stan’s heart still feels like it’s jammed up in his throat.

His parents are expecting them. He didn’t explain over the phone, mostly because his mother had sounded so singularly thrilled about seeing him. He didn’t want to ruin her excitement. She should at least get the chance to think he’s the perfect son for a few more hours before he ruins everything.

Bill, as if sensing what Stan’s thinking, says, “It’s going to be okay.”

It’s not, but Stan manages a smile anyway.

* * *

Stan’s mother must be waiting for them, because she opens the door on the first knock. He technically still has a key, but it feels wrong, somehow, to barge in, especially with Bill in tow.

She seems to have no such reservations, dragging him into the house for a long embrace. She lets him go for a moment, then tugs him back in again, as if unable to help herself. Stan realizes he hasn’t seen her since the summer. He buries his face in her hair and relaxes despite himself. She smells like sweet perfume and the citrus shampoo Stan has seen her buy a thousand times.

When she finally releases him, she turns to Bill. “You must be Bill,” she says warmly, and hugs him too. Stan told her he was bringing home a friend, which is not quite a lie. Bill, for his part, takes the hug in stride. Stan’s mother is short, much shorter than them both, and it’s almost funny, watching Bill bend to return her embrace. Stan can’t help his smile.

Stan’s father comes out to greet them, then, patting Stan’s back and shaking Bill’s hand. They stand exchanging polite conversation for a few minutes until Stan’s mother seems to realize they’re all still standing in the entryway. She insists on taking their coats, even though Stan knows very well where the coat closet is, and ushers them into the living room. The television is on but the volume is turned down low. The couch still creaks when Stan lowers himself onto it. Everything is achingly familiar.

Bill looks at him, his head inclined. Stan shakes his head. Not yet.

Stan’s mother dominates most of the conversation, which is unusual for her. She looks nervous, almost, perched on the arm of his father’s chair, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Ma,” Stan says after awhile of her anxious chattering. “Is everything okay?”

She looks at him for a long moment, and then smiles. It reaches her eyes, crinkling them happily, and something in Stan’s chest unlocks. “Of course, dear. I’m just happy you’re home.”

“I can’t stay long,” Stan says, just to rip off the band-aid. He privately doubts she’ll _want_ him to after everything he has to say, but he doesn't mention that, not yet.

“I know,” she says. “You’ll at least have dinner, won’t you? It’s already started.”

His parents don’t usually eat until later, but one of his mother’s nervous habits is cooking. He wants yet again to ask her what’s wrong, but she’s clearly not going to tell him, so he nods instead.

She looks at Bill. “So, Bill. Tell me about yourself.”

Bill, for his part, sits up straight and does not look nervous at all. His only tell is the way he trips over his words, just a little. “Wuh-Well, Stan and I go to school together. I’m a business major with a minor in comparative literature.”

Stan’s mother makes a noise that sounds impressed. “Did you two meet in class?” she asks. Stan’s father has been mostly watching the television, but he looks up at the question.

Stan’s palms are sweating. Bill’s throat works on a swallow. “No. I’m in a fraternity. Stan came to an event we hosted.”

If they make it out of here alive, Stan is going to give him so much shit for that particular lie.

Stan’s mother continues to ask Bill a series of questions. Some of them are so personal that Stan winces, but Bill takes it all in stride, answering so honestly that even Stan’s father looks a little impressed, nodding sympathetically when Bill starts describing the hardship of his parent’s divorce.

Strangely enough, Stan’s mother doesn’t even look like she’s listening. She alternates between looking at her hands and then staring at Stan, and Stan almost expects it when her shoulders square off and she finally asks, “And are you dating anyone?”

Stan jumps up, much too fast. “Can we stop interrogating him now?” he pleads, reaching out for her. “Let me help you in the kitchen.”

He leaves his father and Bill together in the living room, silently apologizing to Bill for the few minutes of awkward silence he’ll probably have to endure. Stan’s mother is the social one, the one who always bridges conversations. Stan’s father is just as happy to watch TV with the sound off.

The kitchen smells good, like oil and cooked onions. He realizes with a start that she has the makings of latkes mashed in a bowl beside the stove. Of all the things he forgot to miss about celebrating Hanukkah with his family, his mother’s latkes top the list.

There is oil simmering on the stove. She turns up the heat and busies her hands with the mixture, making thick patties and putting them aside. She doesn’t say anything.

Stan’s heart is pounding. He wants to help, but she doesn’t really need him. He could set out the applesauce and sour cream, but it’s a little too early and besides, he feels frozen in place, terrified. This is the moment he was waiting for, but he’s too stupid and scared to say anything.

“Ma,” he manages, and his voice sounds choked.

His mother does not look up. “I like your friend,” she tells him. There’s a strange hitch in her voice.

 _She knows_ , he realizes.

“He’s a good guy,” Stan says weakly. It’s true, but it’s not at all the point.

She finally turns around. He expects her to be crying, but her face is dry and somber. “You know I love you, Stanley,” she says.

He waits for the _but_.

It never comes.

“I can’t tell you who to be with,” she tells him. “It’s not my place. That is between you and God.”

Stan, without meaning to, tears up. She makes a single, heartbroken noise and wipes her hands on a towel so she can collect him in her arms. He collapses against her, his face ducked against her neck.

“Oh, baby,” she sighs, toying with his hair. The color is his father’s, but the curls match hers, and she twists one expertly around her finger. “Did you think we didn’t know? We raised you, Stanley. It’s not a secret you can keep forever.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” Stan says. “I was just scared. I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” she soothes. “But a mother understands what a child does not say.”

“What about dad?” Stan can’t help but ask.

His mother finally pulls away and cups his face in both hands. “Your father loves you. He has trusted God to protect you, and he has trusted you to trust in God. Everything that comes after that is not his business.”

It’s not exactly the answer Stan wants, but it’s better than he had dared hoped for.

On the stove, the oil hisses and pops. Stan’s mother rises onto her toes, kisses his forehead, and then releases him. She turns away to fry the latkes. Stan offers to help, but she shoos him away. “Go save Bill from your father,” she says, and they share a small smile.

Stan feels better than he has in years. Maybe in forever.

* * *

They end up staying the night.

They don’t try to sleep in Stan’s bedroom together, because they don’t want to push the hospitality of Stan’s parents too far. But they stay up long after Stan’s parents bid them goodnight, leaning together on the couch, talking quietly.

“My mom knew,” Stan tells Bill, their hands laced in his lap.

“So did your dad,” Bill tells him. “He gave me the speech.”

Stan’s eyes get very big. “Oh, no,” he whispers.

Bill laughs. “It wasn’t so bad. He didn’t even threaten to kill me. He said God would take care of me if I hurt you.”

Stan can’t help but laugh, smothering it with his free hand. “Well, I am one of the chosen people,” he teases.

“That’s another thing,” Bill says. “He asked me if I would convert.”

Stan stares at him. “What?”

“He asked about my religion,” Bill explains. “I told him I’m a Christian. He said if I wanted to marry you, I’d have to convert to Judaism.”

Stan tears his hand out of Bill’s grasp so he can hide his face in it. “Oh, my God,” he moans. “I bring home one boy and they’re already talking about marriage.”

Bill gives him a flat look. “Are you planning on bringing home more than one boy?”

Stan peeks at him from between his fingers, then lowers his hand. “No,” he says. “Just you.”

“Good.” Bill smiles. “Cause I told your dad yes.”

“Hm?”

“I told him I’d convert to be with you.”

It’s the single most precious, ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to him, but then he touches Stan’s cheek and says, “I love you,” and that’s a very close second.

**Author's Note:**

> "A mother understands what a child does not say" is a Jewish proverb, and if you do not think Jewish women use it in casual conversation you've never met my grandmother.
> 
> This was inspired by and is entirely dedicated to godlychan, who asked for a continuation of the Fuqboi fic. I'm not sure this is at all what you wanted, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Thanks so much for all your encouragement.
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr.](http://namingtheruins.tumblr.com/)


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